


Thirst

by openhearts



Category: House M.D.
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-31
Updated: 2010-01-31
Packaged: 2018-10-09 07:44:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10407240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/openhearts/pseuds/openhearts
Summary: Originally posted at Porn Battle IX.  For (livejournal user) enots





	

She watches the fluid drip drip drip drip drip drip from the I.V. bag down the tube. It's late, nearly 2 a.m., and magazines have long since stopped being interesting. She leans back in the chair, crosses her arms in front of her, and closes her eyes. If she concentrates very hard, she can hear it, she thinks.  
  
drip  
  
drip  
drip  
  
drip  
  
just barely, over the steady low breathing and beeping heart monitor. She tunes them out now, like blinking, until something clogs up and the beeping goes erratic. Otherwise it's just muted background noise.  
  
drip  
  
  
She thinks about House. If she could enumerate it all into a list it would stretch on forever. The hate and the lust. He hangs her, he holds her. For his every action he has seven reactions to surround it.  
  
drip  
drip  
drip  
  
She's cold. She looks at the point of entry on the needle, the simple division of cells around the metal. It suddenly strikes her as bizarre; putting liquid in from the outside like this, just salt water and a few choice chemicals. She's tired. She looks at the patched-up places pasted-over with bandages. Liquid rearrangement is about 80% of her job, she figures. It's all just keeping the right liquids on the right sides of the skin cells.  
  
drip  
  
It's getting really late now. 2:13 a.m. Still there, still watching. This is the other part of her job, both with the patients and with House; watching and deciding. She's left, though drip without much to decide tonight, because it felt like he'd decided for her. She'd let him. She had and she would. Maybe she was over-analyzing.  
  
drip drip  
  
  
drip  
  
drip  
drip  
  
She's horny. It hits her suddenly drip and god, it's inconvenient. She thinks about House's hands, resting still. She uncrosses and recrosses her legs, flexes her thighs. It's like a delayed reaction to just thinking about him, even in the abstract. To this whole day. It doesn't make sense, but it's just a build-up of stress and adrenaline and tension releasing in a very specific way.  
  
drip drip  
  
She thinks about how the watch sits on his wrist, highlighting the length of his hands. She thinks about him playing the piano, playing . . . dripfingers running up her thighs. The thumb and index fingertips of her right hand find each other and rub circles.  
  
drip  
drip  
drip  
  
She glances at the door. The blinds are drawn over the rest of the walls, and it's dark in the hallway. There's one or two nurses on shift and they won't be too tempted to check because they know she's here.  
  
drip  
  
She thinks about House. Familiar, vaguely disgusting. But what did it really matter as long as she got off?  
  
drip drip  
  
She angles the chair so it faces away from the door and slides forward in the seat. She uncrosses her legs, spreads her knees.  
  
The jeans. He wears jeans well, and not just in the overgrown slacker way. Slouchy but not loose denim suits his frame, highlights the cut of his hips when his shirt rides up. It's not often so she's rightclicksaved drip the few times it's happened.  
  
Her fingers slip in, curl up against her clit and start. She arches into it, keeps her eyes open and rolls her thoughts into the flicker of muscles in his forearms.  
  
drip drip drip  
  
Her mind starts to fuzz out, her focus dissolving and narrowing both at once. One little dot between her thighs and one mindfuck of a man between her eyes. The combination always works and it always annoys her. But it always works.  
  
drip her fingers start to slip  
  
drip  
  
Her mouth is dry, her tongue heavy and sticking to the roof of her mouth. drip Water water everywhere, she thinks fleetingly, imagining his skin all over hers, his tongue running over the sweat on her neck. drip  
  
The heart monitor bleeps once out of rhythm and her eyes snap over. Her fingers don't stop, but the sensation does. Everything does. Just the drip, the beep, the pulse against her fingertip.  
  
The beeps fall back into rhythm and for a second the drips sync up  
  
beep  
drip  
  
beep  
drip  
  
Her fingers twitch and she sucks a little breath in through her nose. The flush washes up over her nipples, all the way up to her jaw.  
  
Her eyes fall to the man on the bed and his eyelids flutter.  
  
drip  
  
She comes, and it's startling. There one second, then gone and leaving a haze in her muscles.  
  
His fingers flex as she eases hers out of her pants. She watches unblinkingly as his lips just barely part and a sound oozes out with a breath. She deliberately sucks her two wet finger tips into her mouth to clean them.  
  
His eyes open fully, and it takes a few seconds for them to focus, first on the ceiling, then at random corners of the room. When he eventually finds her she's sitting serenly with a book in her hands.  
  
"How long have I been out?"  
  
She puts on a mild show of looking up like she's surprised. "About two days," she says, setting her book down and getting up to fiddle with the I.V. tubing.  
  
"Sounds right."  
  
He focuses on her, and silence hangs over them for a moment. He opens his mouth to ask the question but she answers before he can.  
  
"You got the Ketamine."  
  
"Did your job then. Good."  
  
"It was what you wanted."  
  
"Yeah, but it isn't what you would have done, is it?"  
  
"Wasn't my decision."  
  
"If I hadn't asked for it, you wouldn't have volunteered."  
  
"What does it matter?" She sighed, sliding fingertips across her creased forehead.  
  
He falls silent. Licks his lips and swallows. She pats him on the shoulder and turns to go, but his hand closes around her wrist.  
  
She turns back. He stares at her for long heavy seconds.  
  
drip drip  
  
drip  
drip  
drip  
  
drip  
drip  
  
drip  
  
"'M thirsty."  
  
Her lips open, against her will. The way he stares at her . . . it's grogginess from the drugs, she decides. She looks to the pitcher and cup sitting lamely on a rolling table. She looks back at his fingers now closed around hers, at her fingers between his. The ones she licked. The ones She pictured him licking.  
  
He's alive. She's a mess, and they're both so thirsty.  
_


End file.
